


Small spaces

by tea_for_lupin



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Gloves, Light BDSM, M/M, dom Poirot, sub Hastings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_for_lupin/pseuds/tea_for_lupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Hastings and Poirot found themselves sharing small spaces with each other. A prompt from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/inabathrobe/works">aphilologicalbatman</a>. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Train

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE I have reconsidered the rating of this fic and increased it to 'mature', to reflect the content of chapters 3 and 5.

The train came to a sudden halt. If I had been more than only half-awake, I would have been able to brace myself against my seat; as it was, I was jolted from my doze to find myself practically sprawling into Poirot's lap.

'I say, Poirot,' I exclaimed, struggling to right myself. But the train took off again, starting as abruptly as it had stopped, and I was once more caught off-guard. 'I'm awfully sorry.' 

My little Belgian friend was fastidiously dusting off my hat, which had been knocked to the floor by my clumsiness. As he handed it back to me, the frown which had briefly clouded his features disappeared, to be replaced with a smile. 

' _Mais non, mon cher_ Hastings,' he said, turning his attention to his own hat, still on the seat beside him. It looked to me completely unscathed, but Poirot gave it a careful wipe over with his handkerchief nonetheless. 'It is of no matter. In fact only moments ago, watching you _en beau repos,_ I wished very much to have you nearer to me. Disarranging though it was, your little misadventure was not unwelcome.' He patted my knee, eyes twinkling. 'Indeed, were it not for the most regrettable lack of privacy—' he gestured at the door of our carriage compartment, which featured a large pane of clear glass emblazoned with the motto and crest of the train company '—I would ask you to repeat it.'

I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, and as usual I could tell that my discomfiture did nothing but delight Poirot. 'Really, Poirot,' I protested, 'it's hardly the place for, for that sort of thing, is it?' And in response to his raised eyebrow, I cleared my throat and added, a little weakly, 'I mean... it's rather cramped, isn't it?'

Poirot cast his eyes around the compartment and then looked back to me, in a way that made it very clear that he had quickly but seriously calculated the options. I felt myself turn even redder at the mere thought of what he had been contemplating. 'The space available seems to me quite adequate, _mon cher._ And we have more than enough time to attend to both our pleasures before we reach our destination.'

He chuckled at my scandalised expression. 'No, no, my Hastings, I play the comedy with you. Never would I ask of you such a thing! It is against your nature, to be so much in the open in matters of intimacy, even were we assured of full privacy in this compartment.' He patted my knee once more, but this time his hand lingered a moment longer than was purely innocent. It was a brief touch still, scarcely even a stroke towards the inner part of my thigh, but it set my heart pounding with a heady mixture of daring and desire. 

Then Poirot leant back against his own seat once more, his eyes still gleaming like a cat's. 'But I hope, Hastings, that once we reach our accommodation this evening you will find it both private and spacious enough for all our needs.'

My breath caught a little and it was a moment before I could answer. 'I certainly hope so, Poirot. I certainly hope so.'


	2. Conservatory

As we stepped into the small conservatory we were met by warmth, most welcome in comparison with the chill autumn air beyond the glass walls. Indeed, it was temperate enough that Poirot even deemed it safe to remove his overcoat and muffler, without which he never stirred outside save in the most extreme summer heat. He folded them neatly over the back of a nearby chair, and laid his hat on the table beside it. I did the same. 

Clearly no expense had been spared to create this glorious indoor sanctuary. The air smelt loamy and rich, laced with the heady fragrances of flowers I couldn't even begin to identify. Above our heads ferns and other trailing plants cascaded from hanging baskets. The predominant colours were silver-grey and green—a hundred different shades of green—interspersed with sudden splashes of bright colour: vivid reds, apricots and pinks; a little yellow, a touch of purple here and there. The fine gravel that crunched beneath our feet was white. It was as if we had stepped into another world.

A sudden flash of blue caught my eye and I turned to follow it. A butterfly had come to rest momentarily on Poirot's hat. Its wings were a glorious metallic colour, edged with velvet black. It paused only briefly and then fluttered off. 

I looked around to find that Poirot was watching me with a fond expression. 'Always you have the eye for beauty, _mon cher_ ,' he observed. 'It is one of your most endearing traits.'

'You must admit, Poirot,' I said, 'this is an absolutely splendid place! I've not seen anything like it. I can't bring myself to believe,' I added, in a lower voice, 'that you could possibly suspect Lord Lockwood of any involvement whatsoever in the murder of Mrs Hodges!'

Poirot gave me a reproving look. 'You say so—because Lord Lockwood has a magnificent conservatory and an inherited title, a country house that deplorably lacks the central heating, two fine hunting dogs and an old school tie. Me, I say that that is not enough! Always I suspect everybody, but everybody—until beyond the least shadow of doubt I know their innocence.'

'Even so,' I protested, 'I still think it's possible to look at someone and know from the first that they're a good sort.'

'That,' Poirot answered, giving my hand a quick warm squeeze in both of his, 'is because you have the nature most beautiful.'

So enclosed did we seem in that delightful space, so private in amongst the falls of delicate foliage and stands of broad leaves, that I dared something I would normally never dream of doing outside the security of our own home. I pressed Poirot's hand to my lips for a quick yet heated kiss, and the soft sigh of desire and contentment that escaped his lips sent a shiver straight down my spine. 

'You tempt me sorely, _mon amour_ ,' Poirot murmured, shaking his head at me. 'What would I not give to be alone with you, back in our flat in London! But come, come—let us look about us, and enjoy our surroundings if we cannot yet enjoy each other! And if I am not mistaken, our host comes now to keep his appointment with us.' He nodded towards an opening between two tall palm-like trees that stood hard by the wall; through the glass pane I could see the tall figure of Lord Lockwood striding across the lawn, dogs trotting by his side.

'I wonder why he asked to meet us here,' I mused. 'What can he have to confide in us that he felt couldn't be spoken of earlier?' For we had lunched with Lord Lockwood and his wife before embarking upon our brief tour of the grounds.

'That we shall soon know,' Poirot said. ' _Mon cher_ , I pray of you do not move; there is a butterfly sitting on your head and together you make a picture of the most exquisite.'


	3. Butler's pantry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter this time, because I've never written case!fic before and I'm finding it rather fun... which is not to say it's a particularly good or coherent case!fic, of course, but I hope you can suspend your disbelief—and enjoy!

Poirot's keen eyes swept around the butler's pantry, taking in the cabinets, with their glass- and silverware neatly arranged; the serviceable desk arrayed with a set of ledgers and other book-keeping paraphernalia; the tidy bench; the drawers and cupboards that doubtless contained such items as polish and cloths. It seemed to me an entirely well-kept space, and I could tell that Poirot approved.

'I commend you, Marsden,' he said to the butler, who stood by the door. 'Clearly you are a man of method. 'A place for everything, and everything in its place'—is that not the saying?'

'It is indeed, sir,' murmured Marsden. 'I find it the best way to keep track of everything.'

'Lord Lockwood is most fortunate to have you,' Poirot exclaimed. 'You have been with his lordship for many years?'

'Coming on twenty, I believe, sir.'

'A marvel,' Poirot said warmly. 'Again I commend you. But tell me, Marsden, I pray you: in the last few days—even, perhaps, before the tragic event of Thursday last—have you found anything disarranged in here? The least little thing. Though it may seem of no moment, do not hold back.'

Marsden shook his head slowly. 'I'm sorry sir, but nothing comes to my mind. As a general rule, I am the only one who spends any great deal of time in here: looking after the silver, you understand, and accounts. If anyone were to meddle with anything in here, I should notice it right away.'

My friend's brow creased. 'It is a pity, that! Nevertheless, it cannot be helped. Perhaps it is I who must rearrange my little ideas—but no, you have remembered something, have you not?'

Marsden, who had given an apologetic cough, now said, 'Well sir, there is one thing that occurs to me. The decanter for the sherry that evening—I found it broken, smashed to pieces, in fact, just on the floor here. This was on the morning after the lady, Mrs Hodges, had been taken ill. I understand that Lady Lockwood came in here to fetch some brandy for her, but I am certain that milady was not responsible for the accident, or she would have told me about it. Perhaps in the commotion one of the dogs got in here unnoticed and knocked it over. Since then, of course, Lord Lockwood has had other things on his mind, and as it was not a particularly valuable item I have not considered it necessary to advise him of the breakage.'

I could see Poirot's eyes begin to gleam with that peculiar shade of green that meant something had greatly pleased or enlightened him. 'Ah! But this could be of the greatest moment! The pieces, have they yet been disposed of?'

'I wrapped them up, sir, and put them aside, but I do not think they have yet been thrown away. Shall I check?'

'Please—and bring them to us here, if it will not derange you to allow us to inspect this pantry for a little longer.'

Marsden disappeared with a slight bow, and Poirot beamed at me. 'Ah, Hastings! _Quelle chance!_ '

'What do you think you will find—traces of the poison?' I asked, curiously.

' _Mon cher ami,_ that is the one thing that, if I do find it, I will be astonished!'

Before I could enquire what he meant by this puzzling statement, Marsden had returned, bearing a neatly-wrapped parcel of newspaper. He placed it on the desk and stood deferentially aside. 'Here it is, sir, and if that will be all, for now—?'

'Thank you, Marsden—you have been but most helpful. That will indeed be all.' Thus dismissed, the butler faded away, closing the door behind him. Poirot turned his attention to the parcel of broken glass.

I could see nothing remarkable in the pile of shards, some faceted, some smooth, and I said as much to Poirot. He shook his head at me. 'Is there nothing, Hastings, that leaps to the eye—or to the nose?'

'Well...' I frowned slightly and bent a little closer. 'I suppose it might be a bit much to expect them to still smell of sherry, after so many days, but they don't seem to have any scent at all!'

Poirot clapped me on the shoulder. 'But yes, but yes, my friend! You have marked it. Most strange, is it not?' 

He now removed from his coat pocket a pair of slim-fitting gloves of soft black leather, and at the sight of him pulling them on my heart skipped a beat. Nor was that the only reaction I experienced. I hasten to say that, under normal circumstances, I would surely have more self-control than to let habitual stimulus get the better of me. As it was, however, it had been nearly a week that Poirot and I had been sequestered from each other, for our bedrooms at Lord Lockwood's residence were separated by some distance, and we could not run unnecessary risks. Thus it had been some time since we had last been intimate with each other, let alone in that way which I most preferred. I am afraid that, in this situation, and in such close proximity to the man I most loved and desired, the outcome was something of a foregone conclusion.

Needless to say, nothing of my discomfiture escaped Poirot. He paused in the act of picking up a shard of glass, and I could not hide my blushes as he favoured me with a smile that could only be described as wicked. 'These gloves, they recall to you some of our most pleasurable moments, do they not?' he said quietly. 'To me, also.' 

There was not a great deal of room in the butler's pantry, but the purpose with which Poirot now pressed close to me was unmistakable. It was all I could do to remain standing as he traced a leather-clad finger tenderly along my jaw.

'It has been some time since we have played _ce jeu-çi, non?_ ' My breath hitched as he stroked my other cheek. 'And always when we play it you are so good for me—so good, _mon capitaine_.' 

'Poirot,' I gasped faintly, 'this is—this is not—'

With a regretful sigh he drew back, as far as he could in that small space, and at once I missed the touch of his hand, the warmth of his body. 'No,' he agreed, 'it is not! Ah, _sacré!_ Patience we must have for some few days more, I fear, until we can return to London.' 

I longed at that moment to do nothing other than sink to my knees, as I had so often done before, and feel Poirot's gloved hands gently but firmly combing through my hair, cupping my neck, guiding me. Instead, resolutely I strove to compose myself, and turned back to the desk, determined to focus on the task at hand. 'Well then,' I said, though my voice came a little husky from my throat. 'Let's see what we can learn from the mystery of the broken decanter.'


	4. Summerhouse

'M. Poirot!' Mary Lockwood was waving at us through the open window of the summerhouse, beckoning us over. 

Poirot and I had been taking a last turn about the magnificent grounds, which were resplendent in the full glory of autumn sunshine, before our departure. We headed, now, towards the summerhouse, where Mary had curled herself up on a cushioned cane chair. 

'I just wanted to thank you once again,' she said, extending a hand to Poirot, who bowed gallantly over it. 'For clearing everything up so wonderfully. Of course, _I_ always knew that Jenny couldn't have had anything to do with it—but it would have been just too awful for her to have to try and make her way in the world with that _suspicion_ hanging over her head. Especially in her profession.' 

'It has been my pleasure, mademoiselle,' Poirot said. 'I am only too glad to have been able to prove the innocence of Mademoiselle Jenny.'

Mary beamed at both of us. 'You're off back to London, now, I imagine?'

' _Mais oui._ We attend only upon your father's car to drive us to the station. And you, mademoiselle? What shall you do?'

'Jenny needs looking after,' Mary answered firmly. 'She's had a rotten time of it lately, what with her mother being poisoned, and then the police suspecting her of doing it. As the saying goes though, there's a silver lining to every cloud: with the inheritance she's coming into, and the sale of the house—well, there'll be just enough to purchase a little chemist's shop that's for sale in the next town over from here. The proprietor's retiring. There's a little flat above it. It'll be perfect for Jenny.' A faint blush rose in her cheeks. 'And me.'

Poirot smiled. 'You go to live with Mademoiselle Jenny?'

'Yes—and help out in the shop with the mundane things. Oh! face creams and so on, you know. Penny sweets for frightful children. Naturally I don't know anything about the technical side of things—not like Jenny. She's a damn' good chemist,' Mary said fiercely, and then caught sight of my face. 'Oh dear,' she added with a sudden giggle, 'I'm afraid I've shocked Captain Hastings with my language!'

'Not at all,' I said, a little awkwardly. 'I'm sure Miss Hodges is an excellent chemist—and I wish you both all the luck in the world with your new venture.'

'As do I,' Poirot agreed, with another small bow.

Mary Lockwood now practically bounced off the chair. 'I must dash,' she said. 'But thank you—both of you—' And she kissed us each lightly on the cheek before matching the action to the word and running off across the lawn.

' _Une jeune femme d'un ésprit formidable!_ ' murmured Poirot appreciatively. 'And a conclusion most successful to our investigation, Hastings. With luck, Lord Lockwood will reconsider the keeping of poisonous orchids in his conservatory.'

'And perhaps give some thought to the installation of modern central heating?' I teased. Poirot rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic shudder.

'I fear that course will never recommend itself to him, _mon ami_. He holds the opinions of the most obstinate in that regard!'

Golden light was slanting in through the window where Mary Lockwood had been sitting. I pulled it closed in anticipation of our return to the main house, and glanced around the tidy little room. 'I suppose we'd better be heading back. The car must certainly be ready by now.'

But we lingered there for a moment or two longer, looking out from the doorway. Poirot linked his arm through mine; one of the few expressions of physical affection we allowed ourselves beyond the doors of our own home. 'May those two young ladies be as content together in their partnership as are we, _mon cher amour_ ,' he said, pressing my hand. 'I wish only that everyone should be so lucky.'


	5. Theatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE I have reconsidered the rating of this fic and increased it to 'mature', to reflect the content of chapters 3 and 5.

As a general rule I wasn't much of a one for an evening at the opera, preferring an occasional jaunt to the comic theatre or simply listening to a play on the wireless. Poirot, however, had felt like making a night of it to celebrate our return to London, not to mention his triumph in solving the murder of Mrs Hodges. As it happened, luck was on my side, and I had successfully argued the merits of _The Pirates of Penzance_ —a spot of Gilbert and Sullivan always being welcome—with the result that we were now ensconced in a private box at Covent Garden. To my delight, Poirot was actually tapping his foot to the Major-General's patter song.

' _C'est bien amusant, cet opéra_ ,' Poirot said softly, leaning close to my ear to be heard above the music. 'Truly, I enjoy it!'

Enclosed as we were in privacy, I reached across and placed my hand over his where it rested on his thigh. He was no longer wearing his leather gloves. 'I'm glad you're enjoying it; I always have,' I murmured back. Then, knowing the song was close to its end, I added with a sudden daring haste, 'Though not as much as our—game—earlier this afternoon.'

Reflected light from the stage gleamed in Poirot's green eyes, and he laid his other hand warmly atop mine, but as the music had died down he could make no spoken reply. I knew, though, that his experience had been equally... Well, 'satisfying' was undoubtedly too mild a word to describe it. Indeed, parts of my body still ached from our exertions, but it was a pleasant feeling: one that spoke of a degree of love and trust that I could imagine sharing with no one else.

My eyes were on the stage, but my thoughts were now firmly elsewhere, and I allowed myself to indulge in recollection.

_We arrived home in the late afternoon. It was almost dark outside and the flat was decidedly chilly after our prolonged absence. I lost no time in lighting the gas fire and the lamps in the living room while Poirot unpacked his valise. Going into the bedroom to see to my own small suitcase, I drew in a sudden breath. Poirot had divested himself of his tie and his jacket, though he still wore his waistcoat. His shirt sleeves were neatly rolled to the elbow, and he was pulling on the soft black leather gloves._

__'Eh bien _, Hastings?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Do you still wish to—play?'_

_My voice seemed to be caught in my throat, and I had to clear it before I could reply. 'I do, Poirot. Yes.'_

_'And if at any time you wish to stop, you will simply say so,_ oui _?—and we will stop.'_

_I nodded, grateful for the reminder. 'I will. I promise.'_

_Poirot nodded also, and now his expression was stern; I could see him deliberately slipping into his role as readily as I was slipping into mine. 'Very good,_ mon minet _.' His green gaze raked me up and down in a manner so unabashedly hungry that my heart skipped a beat. 'You will undress yourself completely. I await you in the living room.'_

_It was with hands trembling from excitement and desire that I obeyed his order. In the living room I found Poirot standing before the fire, hands clasped at his back. He looked me over once again, approvingly, and indicated that I should come and kneel before him on the rug. I did so, and he traced a leather-clad finger gently along my jaw._

_'Are you ready,_ mon petit capitaine?' _he asked. 'You will be good for me,_ oui?' __

_My breath hitched in my chest, and I answered faintly, cheeks burning, 'Yes.'_

_Immediately Poirot's hand was tight in my hair, gripping firmly enough to be on the very edge of too painful. 'Yes—?'_

_'Yes,_ monsieur!'

 _Poirot did not at once release me; rather he bent down and pressed his lips to mine in a heated kiss that left me even more breathless than I had been before. 'And to you I will also be good,_ mon minet,' _he promised._

_And he was._

_Some time later, when we were both spent—in my case twice over—I sat on the floor with my head resting against Poirot's knee. He had wrapped me in a soft blanket for warmth, and made me a_ tisane. _This tasted strongly of mint and aniseed, and was surprisingly refreshing; in fact it was the least objectionable of the infusions Poirot insisted on drinking and occasionally talked me into imbibing. Poirot was now lazily stroking my hair, occasionally sliding his bare fingers down to brush delicately, possessively, over a spot where he had used teeth and tongue to work a large red mark on my shoulder. Over the last couple of hours he had not been gentle with me, and I had relished every minute of it._

The sound of applause brought me back to my present location. It was the end of the first act and the house lights were coming on for the interval. Poirot was standing, stretching himself like a cat and looking down over our balcony into the milling throng of people below. 'Shall we take some refreshment in the foyer, Hastings?'

Having become rather too caught up in remembering our activities, I now found myself in no condition to be wandering about in public. I was once again thankful for Poirot's insistence on seats in a box rather than the stalls or the circle. 'No, no, I'm fine,' I answered quickly, 'but do go and get something for yourself if you'd like. I'll wait here.'

Naturally it would be too much to hope that Poirot should fail to discern my problem. His glance flickered over me, and his lips twitched. 'You have without a doubt been enjoying thoughts of more than just the entertainment we are watching, _mon ami_.'

'Well,' I said, with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances, 'I really don't think it fair of you to blame me for that, Poirot.'

'I blame you not at all! Indeed, _c'est un beau compliment_ that you make me there!' He smiled at me, a full warm smile of deep affection that I could not help but return. 

At that moment there was a knock at the door of our box and we both turned around in surprise. Having regained my composure enough that I could be sure I would not disgrace myself, I rose and opened the door, to reveal none other than our old friend Inspector Japp.

'Evening, Captain,' he said cheerfully. 'Evening, Poirot. Thought I recognised you two up here. I heard you'd been down in the country the last week or two.'

'Yes, we only got back this afternoon,' I said. 'Poirot solved the case he was called in for, of course, so we came out to celebrate.'

Japp raised his eyebrows. 'Interesting case, was it?'

Poirot stroked his moustache. 'Indeed, yes. The psychology, the poison, the false trails—not one of them, not two, but three! There was much to consider! But, my good Japp, tell me you have not come to request our assistance at this very moment?'

Japp shook his head. 'Lord, no! I'm having a night off myself with the missus. Always loved _Pirates._ Liking the show?'

'But yes, a thousand times! _La belle_ Mabel, what a voice—' We discussed the performance for a few pleasant minutes, until the bell rang to let us know that the second act was shortly to begin. 

Japp nodded at each of us. 'Well, Captain, Poirot, enjoy the rest of the evening. I'll be seeing you soon enough in the line of business, I shouldn't wonder.' And with a wave he took his leave.

As the lights went down again, Poirot and I took our seats. This time Poirot's hand sought mine and, knowing that all eyes would be on the stage as the curtain rose, he brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. The music, when it started, was splendid; but that was not the reason for the smile on my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been following along with this fic! I hope you've had as much fun reading it as I had writing it XD


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